you should have a dress code, boys
by lowi
Summary: In which Albus is making Teddy's coffee turn cold but in the wrong way. /Sequel to "don't ruin the leather seats, boys" and set in the "aww, boyzzz" universe /For mew & Niina /Wedding Presents III


_A/N: This is a sequel to "don't ruin the leather seats, boys" but can also be read on its own._

_Dedicated to two people who always brighten my day: __mew-tsubaki __and __lovelyapper__. Niina, here's some crossdressing for you because according to you "All that was missing from ["don't ruin the leather seats, boys"] was crossdressing"—yes, I took that as a direct order. mew, while this wasn't on the list, this is part of the "Wedding Presents" collection, because, well, there had to be some AlTeddy there, right?_

_Many many thanks to __Morghen__ for beta-reading!_

* * *

**you should have a dress code, boys**

You sit as far back in the pub as possible, your body pressed up against the wall and you're thinking of how easily you can get used to this.

Get used to the crowdedness, even though you don't really know what to say when people stumble upon your table—stuffed away that it so purposefully is—presenting themselves with a hopeful smile. Get used to the smoke that's hanging thickly in the air, even though you hate the smell of it. Get used to the loudness that will make your ears ring hours after you've left and the pounding bass that makes it rumble beneath your feet and the warmth that makes your shirt cling to your body.

Because when Albus shouts into his microphone "This one's for my boyfriend, that guy with the turquoise hair back over there" and people turn to stare at you, and Albus blows a kiss at you, then you can swear you'd do this for the rest of your life, because you are not even sure how it's possible for your heart to stay where it's supposed to be, because it feels so light.

"Hey, idiot," Scorpius says a while later, when the music's died out long ago—but Albus and Clara are still on the scene, rolling up wires and carrying away speakers, but it makes sense that Scorpius isn't helping them, because well, he never does.

"Stop calling me that," you protest feebly, because that's another thing that you've become quite used to, Scorpius calling you "idiot," or "twat" whenever he sees you—and it's clear that with Albus comes Scorpius, so it's not like you can avoid him anyway. In the beginning you at least _acted_ like you took offense, now it's more as some kind of ritual, the way he insults you whenever he sees you.

"Made you this shirt," he says and shucks a folded t-shirt at you, while he plops another ice cube (which he skillfully fished up from your almost finished soft drink) into his mouth.

You unfold it, wondering if Scorpius really considered the shade of purple you often wear your hair in, or if it's truly an accident how well the fabric matches that particular colour, and then stare at the print.

"Come on, put it on!" Scorpius urges.

"I already have a shirt on," you say. "And I'm…hot."

"Pfft," Scorpius answers, kicking at your shin under the table and you wonder if it's you who are strange or if it is him, because you would never physically attack anyone you hardly knew (because no matter that you are kind of living in the same apartment as him and have done so for quite a while now, you wouldn't consider the two of you friends…he's just your boyfriend's best friend and that's that), but on the other hand you are not much for physically attacking anyone. "Albus's gonna flip if he sees you in that shirt. And by flipping I mean that the next time he gets an orgasm today won't be in bed."

You splutter and look probably rather silly, because Scorpius laughs loudly, leaning backwards on his chair so that it only rests on two legs.

"C'mon, man," he says. "I'll close my eyes if you think it's embarrassing changing in front of me." He winks.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you answer and stand up. "To take a piss."

"And to change shirts! Who knew you were such a prude, Lupin?" Scorpius yells after you as you make your way between the tables and chairs and all the people. Albus and Clara are still up on the scene, though now they're talking to someone, and Albus is laughing with his head thrown backwards and when you arrive at the bathroom mirror you see a fond, foolish smile etched on your face.

You quickly crawl out of the shirt you're wearing, before you have time considering why you're doing it, (why you're listening to Scorpius, why you suddenly are doing things just out of whims) and put on the one he gave you.

You don't stay to decide whether it fits you, but walk straight out again, and when you arrive at the table both Albus and Clara are there, as well.

"Hi," you say when you arrive, and watch as Albus' mouth turns into a huge, ear-splitting grin.

"The singer is my boyfriend,'" he reads from your chest, and then he pulls at your hand and you land next to him on the seat and he crawls into your lap and kisses you sloppily and you could most _definitely _get used to this.

* * *

It's another night, another Muggle pub, and another song Albus is dedicating to you, and you smile to yourself but you're quite certain you've become better at not blushing so hard.

"Teddy!" You look up and there, in front of you, stands Glenda. You've been colleagues for two years, your offices even share a wall, but you've never considered the two of you acquainted, even. She's far too much stilettos and red nail polish—too sharp and too colourful.

But as you say "Hi" she pulls out a chair, and then she's sitting there, as simple as it is. The music is loud, of course, and you hear Albus' voice clearly, can make out the every word he sings (but that might very well be because it's _his _voice and you know how to listen to it, because when he sings in the dead of the night to you and just holds you, you listen so closely that it's been glued onto your brain), but Glenda talks and you don't know what else to do than to answer her.

You have no idea what you're talking about, but suddenly you're realizing that you're laughing a lot of the time and that it's actually kind of nice sitting there with her. It takes a while until you understand why you noticed this, so suddenly, but then you do, and it's because you don't hear Albus' voice anymore.

You look up to the stage, and they've already packed everything up, and the lights are turned off and no one at all is there.

"I've…got to go," you say to Glenda, and she looks all wrinkled and narrowly at you, so you kiss her cheek quickly and add, "See you at work on Monday," and she finally gives you a smile.

Upsetting people is horrible, you think, so thanks to that smile, it's with at least a little comfort you leave the pub. But on the other hand, the way your insides are squirming would probably be just as discomforting _without_ having received Glenda's smile, because you don't understand why Albus would leave like that, why he didn't come off stage with sweaty hair and being just that amount of clingy he always is after a gig. It makes no sense that he wouldn't.

The car isn't in the parking lot behind the pub either. You're completely sure you're in the right alley, you _know_ this is from where you helped Clara unload the drum set from the car trunk, and where Scorpius yelled at Albus for dropping a speaker on his foot, and where Albus pulled at your arm so that you two fell behind, and where he whispered "It's snowing, Teddy," with laughter in his voice and then kissed you softly and where you smiled at him before walking the other direction so that you could get to the main entrance instead of going through the backdoor with them.

It's still snowing, you realize, but as you notice the tracks in the snow where the car was parked, you can tell it was not long ago at all that they left.

* * *

You haven't been in your own apartment for six days, you realize as you, two hours and a very long and cold walk later, unlock your door. You've been staying over at Albus' every night. It's a bit strange that you are always there, in a way, because they are already three people sharing far too little space, but somehow Albus doesn't seem to fit in your apartment. It's like it's too quiet and too empty there, as though he needs the noise and the warmth and the laughter, as though he'd break otherwise. Whenever you think of this, which always is when you lay awake in the nights, you usually crawl closer to Albus and breathe a little bit warmer against his neck because that's the only way you can tell yourself that you're doing something good for him, something that's worth it.

Now, though, you lie awake in your own bed, there is no one to crawl closer to, no one you can feel against your skin, no one that can sleepily open his eyes and mumble incoherencies that very much sound like "I love you," and the bed feels far too big for you, as though it stretches out endlessly.

You don't want to wonder what went wrong, what you _did_ wrong, so you hide under your covers and count to 13 597 but then you suddenly don't know if you aren't starting over on 13 570 again so you stop doing it and suddenly it's morning.

The first thing you notice when you look out your bathroom window is that the snow's melted away.

* * *

Your coffee has turned cold, and it's pretty cold in your rooms overall, as well.

Your eyes are caught on the calendar, which you, yesterday in your maniac cleaning of the entire apartment (which you regretted right afterwards because even though Albus almost never was there, it was as though you had wiped away even the few traces of him there actually were, by throwing out old newspapers and washing sweaters and t-shirts in which you had an inkling you had seen him walking around), had adjusted with minuscule accuracy, and now it's been nine days since that day in the pub.

And there hasn't been a word.

You throw out the coffee in the sink and pour some water in the cup, instead.

Albus should have been the reason your coffee turned cold, you think. Then you realize he _is_ the reason it turned cold—but he should have been it in another way. He should have been tracing lazy kisses up your neck and trying to make you go back to bed and forget all about breakfast. He should have been telling you lyrics he just made up in that way of his which makes you forget all about anything else than his shining eyes and hurried voice, as though he's afraid he'll lose the words if he doesn't utter them as soon as possible. He should have been there and made you forget everything about drinking coffee by simply being.

But you have no idea how to make him return because you don't know why he left.

* * *

"Why so gloomy?" someone asks, and suddenly that someone's sitting on your desk and you look up and find Glenda looking concernedly at you.

"Oh, hi. Everything's fine?"

"Sure, sure. But what's up with _you_? You've been looking completely down lately, at first I was afraid to intrude, but now…," she trails off and makes a grimace.

"No, it's nothing," you say, forcing yourself to smile at her. She looks a bit questioningly at you, and then she shrugs and leaves you there with a feeling that maybe you hurt her now, maybe you should have told her, maybe this was the only chance you had to make it stop hurting so badly and now you wasted it.

But as you look down at your fingers on the desk, you see Albus' fingers intertwined with them and you have to bite your cheek to keep breathing because _so what_ if that was some kind of opportunity, Albus would still not have been here, having sneaked in behind your boss' back and exclaimed he wanted to have "steamy sex on your desk," all giggly and trying to whisper but failing over and over again.

* * *

The phone feels strange pressed against your ear, but you couldn't think of any other way of contacting Albus that wouldn't be awkward, so for the first time ever since you had given into Molly's nagging ("It is a good idea to get a phone, they are actually really smart, I swear") you are happy you know how to use the strange little device properly.

Because going there, to the apartment, would have been horrible.

And flooing him—appearing in his fireplace like that…_no_.

A letter; well, your paper basket is flooded with crumpled parchments, but when you had tried writing him for three hours you didn't even know whether to begin with "Dear Albus," or a simple "Hi!" so you had given up on that, too.

And now you're standing on your balcony and you're almost wishing for him not to pick up because now you've forgotten everything you've planned on saying and, oh Merlin,_ please don't pick up_.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi, it's me."

"…Teddy?"

"Yeah…hi."

"I didn't…think you'd call."

"Well, but I did. Are you— How are you?"

"…Good. And you?"

"All right, I suppose. Or, well, what happened, Al?" Now you're clutching the phone so hard you think your fingers might fall off, but you're hearing his voice again and if he only would say something that makes everything go back to how it was.

"What do you mean?" he says, and then he laughs, and suddenly you think of how you might drop the phone instead of having a death-grip on it, because he's sounding so far away.

"You know…," you mumble. "That night, in the pub."

He is quiet, and then he sounds as though he's holding the phone away from his mouth, saying, "Are you asking me that, Teddy?"

And then he hangs up, and you press the "end call" button on the phone with shaking fingers, and you can't figure out if it sounded as though he cried or if it was your own tears that echoed in some strange circular way.

* * *

"I want you back," he says, and then his faces crumbles up, and he looks as though he might turn around and run away but you're absolutely frozen because what on earth did he just say? "Oh, Merlin. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be here," he says rapidly, not looking at you, staring so intently at your doormat that a lone thought of whether the doormat suddenly looks any differently hits you.

"What are you saying?" you ask, when he at last pauses.

"I'll be going now, don't worry. I won't be that clingy ex that never can let go, I promise. I don't even know why I went here in the first place, I really hadn't intended to. Really sorry, Teddy. I'll be off now." This time he does turn around, but he keeps blabbering with his eyes half-closed and you almost fall down the stairs when you finally comprehend he's _leaving_.

"Hey! Wait, wait! What are you talking about? Al, stop," you shout and he stops right beneath the last step so that you're towering over him more than usual, and his eyes look huge from where he stares up at you.

"I won't force myself upon you anymore, Teddy," he says, and even though you thought it wasn't possible, his eyes grow even wider.

"Why?" you ask, and it might have come out a little bit harsher than intended because Albus closes his eyes for a second as though he's in pain, and you wish you had said it smoother because it's Albus and he's _here_ and you haven't seen him in weeks.

"Because you don't want a…boyfriend." The last word comes out as merely a whisper, and you're staring at his lips because what they're saying isn't making any sense.

Suddenly a door on the left of the two of you is opened, and the old woman living there, who always mistakes you for one of her nephews, comes out. She smiles with crinkles around her eyes and you smile back, saying, "Good morning."

The door closes behind her and Albus says, "It's not really morning, though. Technically it's afternoon, Teddy."

"Why wouldn't I want a boyfriend, Al?"

"When did you wake up today?"

Then you lean over and kiss him, and he kisses you back so forcefully that you have to lean on the railing to the stairs and you don't understand a thing, but he's there, and he's kissing you, and maybe that's all that counts.

"Al," you mumble against his neck, your nose pressing against the nape and your cheek resting against the smooth skin on his cheek. "What on earth are you wearing?"

"I…I don't know really," he says, the blush on his cheek so strong against his pale complexion that it's spreading down his neck and you kind of very much want to know how far down it goes. He starts to laugh, in your hair, and he's still holding you against him and you peek down his back to get a better view, because is that truly a _skirt_?

"Are you wearing a skirt?" you ask and he blushes even more and you kind of miss everything he answers (but it's something about how he had thought that maybe you'd want him back, as much as he wanted you back, if he was a girl, but he didn't know what else to do than to put on a skirt and then he had kind of got mad at Scor for laughing at him so he hadn't taken it off even though he never really had thought of actually wearing it when going to you) because you really can't believe anything of this…and especially not how good he's at speaking when you're snogging him this way.

"Would you shut up if we took this to bed, Al?"

* * *

"Why did all that have to happen?" Albus asks, his chin leaning on your chest and his face wearing a heavy pout.

"Maybe so I could get the chance to see you in a skirt," you say and he swats you across your head.

"Stop it!" he moans, but then continues, despite the blush that once more makes his skin flaring red. "Though it would be good to know if you have any more secret kinks I should know about?"

You look up at the ceiling for a while. "I think I'm up for anything as long as it involves you, to be honest."

Albus' smile is from ear to ear, and then he whispers, "I'm really sorry for messing it all up."

You don't know how to answer him without sounding as though you're blaming him or as though you don't care, so you grab his hand instead and simply hold it against your skin.

"I love you, Teddy."

And the answer slips out of your mouth even before you realize that this is the first time you've said it to each other. "I love you, too."


End file.
